


RVB Prompt Collections

by GayFrankensteinsMonster



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Farmer's Market AU, Fluff, Implied/Referenced CSA, Kid Fic, Mentioned Megan/Siris/Locus, Modern AU, Multiple System Character, Other, Polyamory, Schizophrenic character, Scissoring, SimmWash Siblings, Smut, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayFrankensteinsMonster/pseuds/GayFrankensteinsMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of collected prompts and drabbles and stuff I have lying around! Warned and labeled as needed, depending on the prompt. Etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naptime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt on tumblr for leonerdchurch! Simmons falling asleep on Grif's tum. I take prompts at grif-exe on tumblr though I don't always get to them in a timely manner,,,,

“Stop moving, I'm trying to-”

“You're what. Trying to sleep?  _ Shirking your duties? _ Be still, my heart.”

Simmons socked a fist into the side of Grif’s belly, and not gently, either. Grif squawked, pouting and turning his head away to ignore Simmons as revenge. Simmons just grumbled to himself and settled down, laid out lengthwise along the couch in the misnamed rec room. There was no recreation to be had, only discontent and four channels of grainy reality television on the ancient set. Grif was sitting on the couch like a normal human being while his boyfriend flung his limbs across the remaining cushions, knee bouncing as he read one of Simmons’ dime-store Star Wars novels. It was one of the rare days where Sarge had permitted them to be out of armor, although he’d added quickly that  _ no armor _ did not mean  _ no shirt, Donut!  _ To Simmons that meant going braless in a tank top, neatly tucked into his belted uniform pants. To Grif, it meant sweatpants and a hoodie over a shirt that must have been Simmons’ at one point, because it rode up over his potbelly and stretched over his chest. 

He could be admonished about the thievery later. It was late, it was after dinner, it was content and quiet and even Sarge had escaped down into the hologram room. Grif had convinced Simmons to push back his cybernetics maintenance by a couple hours, and dragged him off to the rec room. Simmons had expected something more nefarious, smuggled booze or a smoke break or heavy petting, not a quiet evening with Grif reading softly to himself as Simmons laid out with his legs dangling over the arm of the couch, head resting against fuzzy brown stomach. 

Grif was warm, and while the jiggling leg wasn't exactly comforting, his breathing was steady and even, and his arm was slung over the back of the couch,  _ not being utilized to pet Simmons’ hair _ . God, it was like Grif didn't even know him. Simmons reached up and batted Grif’s arm off the back of the couch, earning a disgruntled “hey!” from his couchmate. 

“Show your robot overlord some respect. Proper tribute.”

“What robot overlord? All I see is a fuckin’ nerd blowing off his orders.”

“Fuck you, fleshbag.”

Grif snorted, finally getting the hint and tangling his fingers through Simmons’ hair. Perfect. His dastardly plan, come to fruition. Simmons closed his eyes, wriggling his shoulders and settling down to get more comfortable. He had a pillow, he was comfy and relaxed. Now if only he had a blanket…

“Gimme your hoodie.”

“Why would I do that.”

“Because you love me?”

Grif laughed, a mean little bark that was clearly insincere and not his jolly belly-laugh. How rude. 

“I mean yeah, that's true. But I'm cold too, dude, I don't control the weather.” 

Nevertheless, he shifted and set his book down, bending the spine  _ dammit Grif you knew Simmons hated that _ and tugging his hoodie off over his shoulders 

“Aw, thank you. I'll let you be my personal slave in the robot uprising.”

“Do I get to wear a metal bikini?”

“I'll think about it. You really don’t have the figure, though. We’ll do a role reversal, you be the fat ugly slug, and  _ I’ll  _ be the sexy conqueror.”

“You're hilarious. Go to sleep, Leia.”

Simmons snagged the hoodie from Grif, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He lingered so he could feel Grif’s cheeks heat up, grinning before he got a fat hand to the face shoving him back down onto the couch. He stuffed his arms in the sleeves, rolling them up until he could poke his fingers out of the cuffs, and flopped his arms out behind him. Sure, the hoodie smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke and sweat, but hell, those were just things to associate with Grif. It was comforting, even. Simmons rested an upraised hand on Grif’s side, knuckle brushing over soft skin as he dozed off. He’d never admit it to  _ anyone, _ he’d kill before he let this dirty little secret get out, but he could really get used to this. 


	2. Don't be a Dick, Simmons.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons realizes he's been, well, a douche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from captsimmons! Simmons and Donut in the canyon. I was gonna do fluff bu t yknow... Simmons getting a #callout was just too much for me.

Patrol was among Simmons’ favorite activities in Blood Gulch. He got to be useful, garner praise, and he got to escape from the downright  _ blandness _ of the base. When Grif bothered to show up, he could get friendly conversation, and occasionally, orgasms. It was nice! Patrol was one of the high points of his day. 

Until Donut tagged along. The day Donut tagged along, Simmons decided, before they even left the base, that today was the day Donut died. Really. He was going to kill them. Donut would die by his hand. 

“Okay, so  _ then _ I figured, well, I should just put them back, right? But it turns out, Grif kinda noticed that his glasses had blue paint on them, so he figured  _ Caboose _ did it-” 

“Okay, Donut, that’s great, but I really, really do not think I can bring myself to care about this.”

Donut went quiet, shuffling a step behind Simmons. Donut, not talking? This must be some kind of Bizzaro universe, where things went right for Simmons once in awhile. He managed to breathe, once, twice, and then Donut spoke up again and knocked the breath right out of him.   
“You know, you don’t have to do the whole posturing thing. I know you’re a guy, the whole super-masculine asshole thing is just showing off.”

Simmons froze in his tracks. He tried to breathe, felt his chest tighten up. He clutched his rifle close to his chest, closed his eyes, tried to steady his breathing. When he talked, it was chillier, less breaking and cracked and high-pitched.    
“I’m not doing any posturing thing.”

“Wh- Yes you are! The whole “oh, I’m Simmons, I don’t care about anyone and I take solace in my nerd stuff and-”

“Donut!”

“I’m just saying, we  _ get _ it. You’re a guy, you need to prove it, what _ ever! _ It’s just so boring and overdone, it’s like you’re trying to be every jock who beat me up in high school and trust me, everyone is so  _ over _ it.”

Simmons just kept walking. Donut would live to see another day, if only because Simmons was too busy having a panic attack to shoot them. He had to do some serious introspection when he got back to the base.


	3. I'm Going Back to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epsilon and Grif share a morning together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some grif/epsilon, inspired by this aesthetic post by leonerdchurch on tumblr! http://leonerdchurch.tumblr.com/post/142539095938/grifepsilon-for-grif-exe i just associate these two with soft mornings, yknow? theyre a couple of soft dudes.

Grif’s phone buzzed, throwing off blue light into the darkened room. It was early. When he squinted at his phone screen, flicking the screen brightness down as low as it would go, he realized it was four thirty-seven. Way too early. Grey fuzz oozed through the window, rain tracing patterns down the glass and giving background noise to the staticky, TV snow feeling of the morning. Grif rubbed the back of his hand across his chin, feeling stubble scratch his skin. It took him all of three minutes to contemplate whether walking to his wheelchair was worth it (in the end, it was). He sat up, stretched, and felt a hand curl itself in the back of his shirt.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“It’s raining.”

Epsilon propped himself up on one elbow, looking over at Grif blearily. His eyes were squinted shut, hair pressed flat on one side and stuck up in fluffy loops on the other. He had at least four days of scruff growing across his cheeks. Grif reached over, brushed a hand through Epsilon’s hair and tried to fix his bedhead. It didn’t work. 

“Why are you leaving bed at four fucking thirty in the morning. I don’t care if it’s raining. Come back to bed.”

“I just want to sit outside for a bit. I’ll be back.”

“Well, I’m going back to sleep.”

Grif leaned over, pressed a kiss to Epsilon’s cheek. Green eyes opened up, bright and reflective and practically glowing in the dim light. He shifted, kicked his legs out and sat up to pull on Grif’s shirt again. Pulling him down, pulling him back to bed, pulling him under the blankets and pulling him into a hug. Epsilon tucked his head up under Grif’s chin, palms flat and rubbing over his back.

“Theta doesn’t want you to go.”

Fingers curled through Epsilon’s hair, tracing softly over the scars of his neural implants. Epsilon curled up tighter, feet pressed against Grif’s calves. The rain got heavier, pattered against the windows harder and darkened the room. That TV static feeling didn’t get any better, but it got manageable. Epsilon was real, he was real and his hair was soft and smelled like the tea tree and eucalyptus soap he used, his fingernails were dug into the sides of Grif’s stomach, his breath was hot and soft against Grif’s neck. 

He was real. Epsilon was real and Epsilon was his and this blanket was their little shield against the outside world and the static and the rain. Grif shifted, hands moving to cup Epsilon’s cheeks and kiss him, softly, singularly on the lips. 

“Is Theta happy now?”

Epsilon blinked once, worrying his lip between his teeth before burying his face up against Grif’s chest. When he spoke up, his voice was soft, warm, like a promise and a reassurance. 

“We’re all happy.”


	4. Art is Subjective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does this art museum have so many paintings about dogs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request on tumblr for anonymous! grif/simmons/epsilon/donut/caboose going to an art museum! oh these babies.

“So, it’s supposed to look like she’s totally got her hand on this other girl’s ass, right? Cause that’s all I can see. Who painted this.”

“Epsilon, don’t sexualize the paintings.”

Simmons admonished him, metal arm papped limply against his shoulder. His other hand was gripped tightly on the push handle of Grif’s wheelchair, threatening to topple it with his husband going along for the ride. This was a disaster. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Epsilon was loudly calling every painting in the museum a lesbian painting, Donut was critiquing the color scheme of the museum, Caboose was squinting hard at a painting of a dog, and Grif was scuffing his feet on the floor.

This was the worst. He could never take his partners anywhere. They were so loud and obnoxious and-

“Simmons! Simmons. Simmons come here.”

Caboose was calling to him from the other side of the hall, in what sounded like an attempt to keep his voice down. The attempt was unsuccessful, since Caboose was a very, very loud human being. Sighing, Simmons abandoned his husband to cross the hall, hands tucked into his pockets and fidgeting with a loose screw in his thumb. 

“What d’you need, Caboose?”

Caboose curled his hands on Simmons’ shoulders, gently pushing him towards a stretched painting off to the side. When Simmons was properly positioned in Caboose’s eyes, Caboose rested his chin on top of Simmons’ head, arms draped heavily over his chest. 

“This one looks like you.”

“Caboose, this is a painting of a yellow lab.”

“Yes, but it is the right color. And looking at it makes me happy.”

Caboose sighed through his nose, leaning more on Simmons and relaxing. This was nice, but was quickly going to lead to Simmons’ spine crumpling like an empty straw wrapper. Caboose was heavy. Simmons extracted himself, flesh-and-blood hand pressed against his partner’s chest.

“That’s what you think? I’m- looking at me- I make you happy?”

Caboose nodded vigorously, ponytail bouncing behind his head. Epsilon had decided to join them, wheelchair in tow. He was dragging it like one might drag an outdoor trash can, one-handed and behind him. Grif was not happy about this, and was turned around in his seat trying to slap Epsilon. Oh well. The little glow had been nice while it lasted. Simmons stood on his toes, pressing a kiss to Caboose’s cheek. 

Donut was quick to sprint over once they realized affection was being bestowed. Grif begged them to extract Epsilon from his wheelchair. Epsilon sat down hard on Grif’s lap. Caboose bounced on his toes at the new situation unfolding in front of him.

Never a dull moment with those four. Simmons wouldn’t trade them for the world.


	5. The Simmons Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash and Simmons are brothers.   
> Given Simmons' childhood experiences, they had to be pretty close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (there's implied/referenced CSA in this chapter along with a dysphoric trans boy figuring himself out. nothing gross is described but it's there. be forewarned)

“David? David. Wake up.”

David woke with a start, alert and up and ready for action. What needed to be done, what was wrong, who-

Oh. Oh, Susy, that was Susy- Oh, no. Okay. She was standing by his bed, eyes wide, panicked and clutching at his sheets, trying to pull him off the bed. Something had happened, gone wrong- Okay. 

“I’m up, I’m up, what happened, are you-”

“Can you to reach the first-aid kit from the bathroom for me.”

“Susy, what-”

“Please? And stand by the door? And- And-”

He nodded, waving a hand at her. Whatever happened, no questions at her. She didn’t need that right now. He bundled a blanket around her shoulders, picking through his drawers to get her new pajamas, and led her off to the bathroom so he could help her out as best he could. What did he need- First-aid kit, top shelf, medicine cabinet. Bandaids, gauze, tape- Okay. Got it. He handed it off, along with the clean pajamas, to Susy, trying to look her properly in the eyes. She flinched and ducked past him, shoving him out of the door. 

Standing guard. Outside the bathroom. While his little sister was in there doing who knew what. This was a whole host of red flags on its own, really. But David trusted her. He stood outside and waited until she opened the door again, breath hitching. 

“David? Can you- Can you cut my hair like yours?”

That’s a little weird. He looked down at her, tried to catch her line of sight again. 

“Why?”

“Please. I don’t like it. I don’t like long hair. I’m not-”

“Hey, hey. Susy. It’s okay. I’ll do it. You gonna tell me what’s up?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“That’s fine. I’ll find the scissors.”

It took him all of ten minutes for him to get her situated, sitting on top of the toilet lid as he buzzed off most of her hair and chopped bangs into something that hopefully looked good. He wasn’t all the confident in his skills, but if Susy was happy with it, he was happy with it. He handed off the little handheld mirror to his sister, fingers crossed. 

She started crying. Her lip quivered and she curled up, handing the mirror back to David and hiccuping as she sobbed. 

“Susy? Susy, kiddo, Duck, what-”

“I’m not Susy!”

That was something of a surprise. Granted, she did just ask him to buzz her hair. That wasn’t uncommon, really, but- Okay. That was okay. David sat down on the edge of the tub.

“I don’t- I don’t want to be a girl, I don’t- I don’t like being a girl, I don’t like Susy, it’s gross, it’s- I’m gross and bad and I don’t-”

“Hey, no- Kid, you’re not gross. What happened?”

She shook her head, flapping a hand over in David’s direction and trying to get him to stop. This was obviously distressing her, jeez, no. That was awful. Something, something had happened and she had been hurt and she didn’t need this, she was just a little kid. What the hell had happened? David sat there for a moment, toeing at the clumps of hair on the floor. He didn’t know what to do. 

“Do you want me to call you a boy?”

She sniffed, rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and looked over at David. Big, brown eyes, puffy and red- He hadn’t noticed the yellowing bruise on her lip before. She nodded. 

“Please. Please I don’t- I don’t. If I’m a girl, I’m-”

“Come here. Hey, come here. Can I give you a hug? Come here. You’re my little brother. Got it? You’re a boy. C’mere.”

She- Well, no. That was David’s little brother now. He hiccuped again, giving him a watery smile and leaning over to butt his head against David’s shoulder. David bundled him up into his arms, leaning over to snag his blanket from the sink counter and wrap him up. His heart sunk when his little brother’s pajamas hit the floor, some kind of pastel flowery matching set. Red was streaked across the hem.

“Hey, kiddo, do you want to sleep on the couch in my room tonight? We can watch Star Trek before you go to bed.”

He looked up at David, blinking once and nodding. 

“Is that okay? I don’t- I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“I’ll handle it, Ducky. You won’t get into trouble. I’ll say I needed you to remember what episode I was on. Okay?”

“...Thanks.”

David was going to find out what the hell was going on here. But right now, he just needed to make sure his little brother was okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> simmons and wash are completely related @rvb14 confirm this  
> no but simmons had a? really bad childhood and wash is. very protective and they just care about each other so much? they're trying so hard


	6. The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trade with ElZacharie! he wanted chex with trans dude church and scissoring. scissoring is always good this fandom needs more of it

“Okay, hang on, I want to try something.”

Tex pulled back as she spoke, whispering in a hushed tone against her boyfriend’s swollen, kissed lips. Church breathed for a moment, didn't respond before nodding and sitting himself up slightly. 

“Yeah, okay- Okay. What's the plan?”

“How're you feeling today? Vagina-wise.”

“It's there and you just kissed me sideways so I think it's good, but, y'know-”

“You'll tell me if you're not okay?”

“Jesus, Tex, have I ever not? Come on.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned in to drag her teeth across his bottom lip, fingers digging into his sides under his shirt. Church sighed through his nose, wrapping his hands in her hair and tugging. There was a soft little noise, something that sounded like a plea, but Tex wasn't keeping track. She kept kneading at his sides, shifting to press her thigh between Church’s legs. The reaction was instantaneous, his nails biting into her bare shoulders and his hips bucking up. She could feel him through his sweatpants, and scraped her nails down his side until she could peel them off. 

“Damn, Church. Couldn't be bothered to shave?”

“I've never touched a razor in my life and you know it.” His face flushed anyways, cheeks heating up as he pressed his knees together “If it bugs you-”

“I'm teasing, Leonard. You're so insecure.”

“You're so- A bitch.”

“I'm so a bitch. Thanks, asshole.”

The bickering was familiar, at least, and got Church to relax a bit. He circled his hands around Tex’s waist, pulling her in closer and resting his forehead against hers. They sat there for a moment, breathing and relaxing and working up the courage to try something again. Church brushed his hands through her hair, fingernails digging into the back of her neck. He mumbled something about getting Tex to take off her panties, but it was a little on the snarky side. She squinted at him and kissed him, teeth dragging at his lip as she wiggled her underwear off her hips. 

“Well, now you’re naked and I’ve got my shirt on, and it’ll just be-”

“Church? Be quiet.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll shut up now. You’ve got great tits.”

“I know, Church. Shush.”

He nodded, blush creeping down the sides of his neck. Tex dug her fingers into his hips, repositioning him so she had one of his fat thighs between her legs. She pulled his other leg up, hooked it around her waist. Church stared up at her, lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to keep quiet. It was cute, but in the way that made her want to absolutely wreck him. She cupped a hand between his legs, heel of her hand pressed against the hard line of his clit. His reaction was instantaneous, hips stuttering up and jerking into her hand; he was slick and eager and ready-

Tex pulled her hand away and listened to Church whine before she spread his legs out further, lowering her hips down onto his and grinding against him. He arched back and whined, heel digging into the back of Tex’s hip as he jerked against her. It was all hot and slick and when Tex lightened up on her thrusts to tease Church curled in on himself, buried his face in her chest and whined for her to keep going. She didn’t, of course, she settled back into a soft, slow pace with her grinding and reached down to circle over his clit with her thumb. He glared up at her from under furrowed eyebrows, stubble scratching against her chest as he traced his tongue over her nipple and latched his teeth onto it. And that was that. He wanted to be competitive? She’d let him be competitive. He wasn’t going to  _ win.  _

So sue her if she ended up throwing one of his legs over her shoulders, straddling over him and grinding down fervently onto him, his shirt shoved up to his collarbone as she squeezed the little swells of his chest. And maybe she sucked his nipples a little too hard, kept sliding her hips against his even after he came and soaked the sheets between them. Sometimes a girl just needs to get her fat little boyfriend worked up until he’s shrieking for God. It’s the little things in life. 


	7. Two A.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif has kids. They're a handful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr!! modern AU with grif and his daughter using th phrase "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyways."  
> grif's a good dad

Grif woke up to rustling in the kitchen

This wasn’t new, of course. Between his kids and the occasional rampaging feral cat, he had to shoo things out of where they shouldn’t be on a daily basis. Groaning and slapping at the side table to find his glasses, he got up out of bed and limped to the kitchen. He passed the twin’s room on his way, peeking in. Taro was sleeping- Taro was pretending to sleep, because Grif could see his DS light blinking under his pillow. He shook his head. Misbehaving little boy. 

And the other one was empty. Of course. Something hit the floor wetly in the kitchen, and a small, delicate voice spoke up afterwards. 

“Fuck.”

Well, that settled it. Grif had to stop swearing around his kids. Six year olds don’t need to swear. He kept walking and poked his head into the kitchen. Alani was standing on a chair, staring down at an egg that had broken open onto the tile. She had a bag of flour and sugar open on the counter, white powder dusting over the front of her kid-sized apron. 

Grif cleared his throat, and his daughter shrieked. She scrambled to set the bags of baking supplies upright, crawling down off the chair and pushing it back to the table. 

“Papa! Hi, Papa, hi- I was hungry- I wanted to bake- Make pancakes, for breakfast-”

“It’s two in the morning. That’s not breakfast.”

“Ummm. It’s not night. It’s morning. If you eat in the morning, it’s breakfast.”

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands balled up in her apron. Grif couldn’t argue with that logic. Crossing the room, he balled up paper towels and stooped down to wipe up the dropped egg. Then he snagged his apron off the hook, pulling it on over his t-shirt. Alani gasped.

“You don’t have to help! I can make it on my own.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyways. Go wake your brother up, we’ll have a midnight pancake party. Okay?”

“It’s two in the morning, not midnight.”

“Yeah, well, papa’s confused this early. Do you want chocolate chips?”


	8. Good Morning, Miss Washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Washington does a lot of things. It's hard to keep track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request for hissingwasteoftime on tumblr! washington's morning routine.

Wash woke up, kind of. She blinked and held her hands up in front of her face, staring intently at them. Those were hers. For sure. Right? Yeah, they had the same chewed-off blue nail polish and little scar on the meat of the thumb. Those were things Wash remembered about the hands attached to the body she was probably occupying. So it could be said that these were her hands. Yes! She sat up and slid a hand over her stomach, pressing a finger into the divoted scar left behind from a stray bullet. 

Right. She got up and made her way to the little shared hole in the wall that qualified as a bathroom in this base. If it even qualified as a base- It was half a fucked-up beached spaceship. The chipped mirror hanging over the sink reflected an angry little woman. She had frown lines pulling her cheeks down into gaunt little pockets, and black bags under bloodshot eyes. They were vintage bags, thanks. She'd had them as long as she could remember. The woman in the mirror peeled her lips back from her teeth, showing off her buckteeth. Ugh. Gross. She should grow her hair out, too. What kind of gross old lady wore a sloppy buzz cut like that? Looked like some kind of man trying to dress up.  

Wash pulled open one of the little storage lockers by the sink, trying to read the labels of the orange bottles inside. It was a shitty idea to have a shared medicine cabinet. Especially when the Reds had to walk over every morning just to pick up a daily supply, but hey. Sarge's orders. Wash sighed. She couldn't even read the labels. The letters were swimming in front of her eyes. These were for pain. Those were immunosuppressants. These were for anxiety. Those were for depression. These were for mood disorders. Where the hell was her Haldol? It had to be in here somewhere- She squinted hard, thunked the side of her head with the heel of her hand. 

Pushing the other bottles aside, she closed her hand around the only one she hadn't looked at. And look at the label- Yeah, that's the one. She shook out her dose and swallowed it dry before looking back in the mirror. 

"Do I take this with food? I don't, right? Is this the medicine I take with food." 

Wash watched the woman in the mirror speak to her, watching the movement of her lips. She tried to catch the other woman's twitching gaze, looking at her brown eyes under furrowed graying eyebrows. The voice coming out of her mouth  _was_ Wash's. Right? That sounded like her. Okay. Inhale, and breathe. Say something again, "I need to wake everyone else up." Right. Go get North and York and- "I need to wake Tucker and Caboose up."

No, yeah. Tucker and Caboose. They were on some rinky-dink backwater planet at the farthest reaches of colonized space. They were in a crashed spaceship. 

Okay. She took in a deep breath and nodded, walking out into the rest of the bunks. She knocked on the shared door, calling out to Tucker and Caboose to wake up. Fall into the routine. Wake up your soldiers. Be the commanding officer and show them you were in charge. She could do this. Okay. 

Wash walked back to her room to put on her armor. Another day. More rations to dole out. More- More stuff to do. She would just have to do this. 


	9. Just About Five Thousand Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons met a nice kid a while back, and when that nice kid moved back home to Honolulu, well, it damn near kills him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grif and simmons in a modern au, inspired by this! http://r3dical.tumblr.com/post/148895480555/that-hair-swap-spawned-an-entire-modern-au-in-my  
> because sloan kills me every day

Simmons slogged his way up the mud path to the house, adjusting and readjusting his backpack. It was pouring bullets, his hair tie had escaped somewhere a few thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean on the airplane here, he was freezing cold, it was three in the morning- And he was ringing on Grif's doorbell. It wasn't even remotely okay for him to do that. They wouldn't be awake. They wouldn't even know it was him! For all they knew, he was still on the East Coast, sitting up tight in a cozy lil' apartment and just waking up. Grif was- No. No, they were asleep. He'd made a huge mistake, Jesus, he had to leave. He had to. He turned on his heel and stepped back onto the path, but, no, no one was on his side at all. He skidded and slipped on a patch of mud, landing down hard on the dirty concrete step. Dammit. God fucking dammit. Simmons stood back up, groaning. Useless. Useless! He had to leave, before he woke Grif up.

And then one of the lights flicked on. Simmons stood there, frozen, staring at the door as he saw a bedroom light, a hall light- 

The door opened and Grif was in the doorway. Oh, God. They were bleary-eyed and dressed in a tank top and shorts, hair messed up in the front. They rubbed a hand over their face and squinted, head tilted before they recognized who was standing in front of them. Simmons took in a deep breath, sputtering on water. He thought long and hard about what he should say. He needed to say something, right? You don't travel five thousand miles across the ocean to just, stand there and stare at the person you- Jesus Christ. Say something. Say something, you fuckin' idiot. Grif blinked once, chewing on their lip. 

"Do you want to come inside, dude? You look like you fucking died on the walk here."

* * *

 

Grif let Simmons come inside and take his shoes off, and then upon seeing how actually goddamn wet he was, let Simmons take a shower and borrow a pair of sleeping clothes. Simmons ended up bundled up on the couch, toes poked out of the comforter Grif had given him. Grif was standing in the kitchen, doing God knows what. 

"So you're telling me you bought a- God, that's gotta be a five hundred dollar plane ticket to do, what, exactly?" 

"Look, remember that time on New Year's, and we were walking home from that one party, and you were talking about how you just wanted to- We kissed. On New Year's. And it was snowing and you had really warm hands, and you've been a good friend to me for so long, and. It's a lot. I'm so jetlagged right now, Grif. But I think I love you. Maybe a little." 

Grif poked their head out of the kitchen, one eyebrow raised. 

"Seriously? You wake me up at fuck o' clock to tell me you love me a _little?"_ Grif walked out and passed off a bowl of something hot into Simmons' hands. "You're gonna freeze. Eat this. No, but seriously. You don't wake a dude up this early to tell 'em you  _kinda sorta_ have a thing. C'mon. Be a decent human being. You're either hopelessly in love with me or you're a total dick." Grif smiled lopsidedly at Simmons, elbowing him. "I'm- I'm kidding. Of course."

"No, you're right! I'm hopelessly in love with you." Simmons sipped at the soup he'd been given. What a nice guy. Giving dickhead people who barged into their home food and clothes. "I'm also a total dick. This- This was a dick move." 

Grif snorted, peeling back one edge of the comforter so they could press themself against Simmons' side. 

"I'm glad you noticed. I'm gonna sleep on you, now, and you can't do shit about it."

"That's fair. 

 


	10. Signature Drink: Manhattan Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maine is a terrible nickname. So is Washington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just some simple mainewash for an anon on tumblr! it's kinda..... blah but it's not a ship i think abt very often. but i can get behind it :0c

“So, you, you’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around, which is. Normally I remember everyone, around here. And I haven’t seen you. So- Hi! You’re really going to town on that punching bag.”

Maine (which was not his real name, but he’d been nicknamed that back in the fifth grade and it had stuck) looked up from between raised fists, eyebrows raised. The woman standing a few feet away from him was holding a pair of weights, shoulders pulled back as she eyed him. He looked back at his bag, going back to his punches. 

“Just moved.”

“Oh! Well, that’s, that’s nice. Um, I’m Da- Susanne. But, uh. I answer to Washington. Stupid nickname, but. It happens.” 

Maine snorted, rolling his shoulders and relaxing for a moment. 

“Maine. Guess we’ve got the same problem.”

“Huh! Yeah, we do. Hah, um. You just moved here, right?”

“Right.” 

Wash set her weights down and arched to pop her back, arms stretched over her head. She brushed a hand through her hair and coughed, once. 

“I know some good places to eat, if you’re wondering. Plus, there’s a good bar downtown! They have this one mixed drink that’s basically- New York Iced Tea? Long Island Iced- Except it’s even more ridiculous and they don’t let you order more than one.”

She was asking him out on a date. Huh. Maine picked at the wrappings on his hands, tilting his head over at her and nodding. It would be nice to know the area a little more. And the worst that’d happen was that the date wouldn’t work out. Wash didn’t seem like a serial killer or anything of the sort. What could go wrong?

Maine reflected on this the morning after he went out to that bar. The bartender had been perky and blonde with a rather prominent facial scar and a seven foot tall boyfriend that kept reaching behind the bar to steal lemons, and Wash had ordered a few specialty drinks. They’d talked, they’d laughed, and now Maine was lying down mostly-naked on a leather couch, in someone else’s apartment, with a one-eyed cat gently patting his mouth. 

Maine had to stop moving to fucking weird places.


	11. Rival Florists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif has a little stall in the farmer's market. Locus has partners that drag him along every weekend so he can help out with their stall. They're both hopeless losers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request for an anon on tumblr! griflocus but in the very new and shiny farmer's market AU that i figured out. it's a good time.

"I don't see how it's okay for them to have another flower stall set up. Megan, it's not okay for another- Megan. Stop snickering at me, Megan. I have a point."

"No, Sam, you have a vendetta. We sell bouquets, those two sell- What are they selling, actually," She hummed and stood on her toes to peer over at the market stall set up two rows down, trying to catch a glimpse of the interlopers. "They've got a regional booth set up. See, look at the leis." 

"They're still flowers, Megan."

"Mason, tell our boyfriend that other people are allowed to sell flowers."

Mason looked up from the set of customers that were purchasing wares, raising an eyebrow. He bundled up the bag of fruit for them and wished them a good day, limping over to stand by his partners. "Is he complaining about those siblings again? Sam, it's going to get old pretty soon." Megan nodded in agreement. Sam was a little upset. Here he was, getting rightfully peeved over the fact that there were people elbowing into their market. It's not like he was getting pissed over nothing. Mason nudged him with his elbow. "Go talk to them if it's upsetting you so much."

"I'm not upset." 

* * *

 

So maybe Sam was a little upset. He marched his way over to the other stall, standing in front and folding his arms. He hoped he looked intimidating, he really did. And then a five year old poked their head up over the folding table, resting a box of guavas precariously on the edge.

"Twenty dollars." 

"No, I don't want to buy anything. Are your- Is your parent around." 

"He's dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Is anyone else around that I can talk to?"

"They're dead too."

"Right."

Deciding to ignore the child, Sam leaned over the table, trying to look closer at the blanket covering the back of the stall. He could hear people talking in hushed voices, and he cleared his throat. The silhouettes jumped, both pushing into the stall. They were obviously related, the same black hair and round faces. These were those business-leeching leeches. Sam would have to think of a better insult for them. Eventually. Leeching leeches didn't pack enough punch. The shorter one, stubbly beard and guitar slung around his back, picked up the child and poked them in the forehead.

"Don't tell people we're dead, lil tater. Sorry, hi. I'm Dexter, that's Kai, this is Taro. We're not dead. He's just kind of rude. What can I help you with?"

He shifted the child onto his hip, looking up at Sam. He was wearing big, round tortoiseshell glasses. His hair was in a bun. He had on a shirt with _H_ _onolulu Pride 2014_ printed on the front in purple block letters.  There was a little white flower behind his ear. Sam felt his heart fall onto the ground, and tried to clear his throat in an attempt to tell this- Little bean-shaped human that he was encroaching on his and his partners' lucrative floral business.

The only thing that came out of Sam's mouth was a wheeze, and Dexter nodded. His kid touched his hand against Dexter's face, pulling at his cheek.

"Tater, stop. Aren't you the Wus' roommate? Can you tell them I said hi? Oh, did they bring the kids along today, because Taro's going stir-crazy. Alani bolted as soon as she saw the fuckin' horde of Church kids, but this guy's nervous, and he knows you guys. Hey, you listening?" 

Sam wasn't, but he nodded anyways. 

"Great. So can you just walk him back over to your stall and let him hang out with the other kids? He's a good kid. I'll pay you back, if you want. I've got some handmade stuff in the back of the truck, or you can take your pick of anything laid out-"

"Would you want to get coffee sometime." 

Dexter blinked, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. He didn't seem to process the question for a while, but he did eventually nod.

"Yeah. How's Wednesday?"

* * *

 

Sam ended up walking back to his stall with a child clinging onto one hand and a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it in the other. Megan waved over at the two of them when she saw them approaching.

"So how did it go?"

Sam looked down at Taro and the phone number. It didn't hit him until he said it out loud.

"I think I have a date."


End file.
